


i said i'm ready, hold the phone

by stripperviolet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward First Times, Car Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Loss of Virginity, Marijuana, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stripperviolet/pseuds/stripperviolet
Summary: After prom, Pidge and Lance break off from the others to do their own thing. They end up doing each other, too.





	i said i'm ready, hold the phone

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a maybe-canon or alt-canon stripperverse fic, but then I decided to rewrite stripperverse so this is just a standard high school AU.
> 
> Title from Sativa by Jhene Aiko and Swae Lee.

After prom ends, the group kind of falls apart. Pidge and Lance want to hang out and smoke, Hunk and his girlfriend want to keep being social, and Keith doesn’t want either of those things and also drove his own car to the venue. So, they say goodbye to Keith and drop Hunk and Emily off at the after-prom party, then drive up to the hill overlooking the city. 

The drive up winds and twists, and Pidge has to yell at Lance to slow down a couple times. The weed in her lap shifts ominously with every turn he takes too fast.

“Lance, this shit is expensive.”

“So roll up when we get there! It’s not my fault you decided to do it in the car.”

“Slow down! Oh my god.”

Lance takes the turn far too fast. Some of the weed slides off the rolling paper and onto the magazine Pidge is using as a surface. She dams it with her hand, grumbling curses under her breath.

“Next time, buy your own weed.” Pidge scrapes the scattered grinds back into the paper. “Now  _ slow down _ , or else you’re not getting any of this.”

“I give you free rides. You want to withhold your weed? Drive your own car.”

“Ugh.”

“I’m serious, Katie. I know your parents bought you a car. Get your license and drive  _ me _ around for a change.”

Pidge waves a hand in his face. “Don’t start, Lance. I was joking about the weed. Now shut up and let me concentrate on rolling this thing.”

“Pfft. Whatever.”

The rest of the drive up the hill is made in blessed silence. Pidge rolls the joint with practiced fingers. Lance, thank god, takes the turns slowly. Eventually, the trees lining the road give way to the lookout, and in the dark the city and the sky merge into one expanse of black flecked with tiny shimmering lights.

“Wow,” Lance breathes. “It’s beautiful.”

Pidge frowns at him. “You’ve been here a hundred times.”

“And it’s been breathtaking every single time!”

“It’s the  _ same view _ every single time.”

Lance levels her with an unimpressed look. “You must not have a soul. That’s gotta be it. You just don’t have a soul, and thus can’t appreciate the beauty of the-  _ urk _ !”

“ _ Please _ stop talking.”

“ _ Ge ur hmm off mrr mrrth _ !”

Pidge removes her hand from Lance’s mouth and rolls down the window. “Lighter?”

Lance hands it over. “What are we smoking this time?”

Pidge takes a big hit and passes the joint to Lance. “This is Gelato. It’s a hybrid, and it’s  _ strong _ . Smells and tastes amazing, too. Here, try.”

Lance takes a smaller hit. “Tastes like weed.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

Lance puts some music on and they finish the joint in silence. The body high hits hard, languid and tingly, and Pidge melts into the passenger seat. Her thoughts flow like water, twisting and turning and all connected to the same body but always moving downstream, downstream.

The music is soft and trippy. Pidge closes her eyes and relaxes into it. The beat presses her body down into her chair, and the melody and harmonies twist together and play with her mind. 

“Man,” Lance says, snapping her out of the haze, “I like this one way better than the other one.”

Pidge opens her eyes. “The Strawberry Lemonade?”

“Mm, yeah, that one. This is nicer.”

“Hm,” Pidge says in lieu of a response. She reaches a hand out the open window, feeling the night breeze tickle her fingers. When she follows her hand with her eyes, the seamless canvas of city and sky sparkles with new meaning. It’s like the stars have descended into the city, or like the city extends into the sky. “I guess it is a pretty view after all.”

Lance chuckles. “You say that every time.”

The song changes to something slow and sensual, and Pidge’s high changes with it. The rambling, relaxing, seat-melting feeling gives way to a building euphoria, heady and sticky and demanding. Pidge shifts in her seat, not uncomfortable but squirmy. It’s a feeling she knows well, hot restlessness in her limbs that demands attention and refuses to let her sleep. 

She tries to ignore it until the song is over, but time has grown stretchy and the song seems to last a long time. The beats settle into her bones, pulsing with her blood. She shifts again to look out the window, drawing one leg beneath her and settling her heel against her crotch. It’s just the high. She can wait it out.

The song changes, and the feeling doesn’t go away. Pidge puts her leg back down and presses her back against the seat, wishing she could actually melt into it.

She looks over at Lance and finds him already looking back at her. When their eyes meet, heat throbs in her core and spreads throughout her body, pinging in the middle of her palms, on the soles of her feet.

“Oh,” she hears herself say softly. “Shit.”

Lance’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are dusted with pink. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.”

“It’s...this is…”

“Yeah.”

They share a tense silence. Lance licks his lips and looks away, shifting his hips. Pidge squeezes her thighs together and watches the drag of Lance’s fly against the bulge in his pants.

Lance looks back at her. They hold eye contact. Pidge, feeling bold and grateful she’d decided to wear pants instead of a dress, rests a hand between her legs and presses up against it.

Lance makes a choked noise and goes pinker. “Katie, holy shit.”

“Mm.” Pidge rolls her hips against her hand. “You too.”

Lance’s hand brushes ever-so-lightly against his bulge, then stills. “This isn’t weird?”

“It’s weird,” Pidge says, her gaze laser-focused on Lance’s hand. “But we don’t have to be weird about it.”

Lance’s relaxed fingers uncurl until his hand is flat against the front of his pants. He inhales, then exhales hard as he pushes his palm against himself. “Oh,” he breathes. He grinds up into his palm. “Can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Pidge’s fingers brush against her cunt, and she realizes with a spike of arousal that she might be getting her pants wet. “Gotta take these off,” she murmurs. She undoes her fly and slips her fingers in between her pants and her underwear.

“Oh,” Lance says again. “Oh my god, please.”

The pants crumple on the floor, leaving Pidge in her dress shirt and no-line panties. Now, when she presses herself into the heel of her palm, want spikes through her and she whines.

Lance responds with his own moan. “Katie,” he whispers, “can I.” His fingers hover at the button on his pants. 

“ _ Yes _ .” Pidge’s middle finger slips through the leg of her panties and rubs against the wetness of her cunt. “I want to see you.”

Lance’s pants and underwear come off at the same time. His dick springs up, hard and curved and red with a bead of precum at the top. Lance flicks over it with his thumb and swirls it around the head. “You too, I want to see you too.”

A thread of slick trails Pidge’s finger when she moves it.

Lance’s breath hitches. “God,” he says. He watches with rapt attention as Pidge pulls off her panties. She shifts and throws one leg over the console so he can watch her press the pad of her middle finger against her clit and rub it in slow circles. Lance licks his lips, then sucks his lower lip into his mouth and worries it with his teeth.

“Ah,” Pidge moans, resting her head back against the window.

Lance’s hand moves over his dick in slow, even strokes. “Katie,” he says. “Katie, can I...can I eat you out?”

A sharp pang of arousal courses through Pidge when she imagines Lance’s mouth on her. “Yeah,” she says, “sure. Sure. How should we…?”

Lance reaches down beneath Pidge’s seat. “Head up.” Pidge moves her head from where it was braced against the window, and Lance rolls the seat back as far as it goes. “Like this?”

Pidge looks down and pictures Lance knelt on the floor looking up at her. “Yeah. Like this.”

A moment later, imagination merges with reality. Lance kneels down on Pidge’s crumpled pants and a pre-smashed box of Kleenex and looks up to meet her gaze. “This okay?”

Pidge shivers. “Yeah, it’s okay.” The weed is making her jittery, now, her thoughts spiking all over the place. She’s anxious, all of a sudden. What if Lance isn’t good? Does she say something, or does she act like she likes it? And what if Lance  _ is _ good? Should she moan extra, to be supportive? Or is it enough to just feel through it? Is it naive to think that Lance will know when he’s doing something right, or is it inauthentic to exaggerate her reactions for Lance’s benefit? Is it possible to be bad at receiving oral?

“Uh,” Lance says from between her legs, “can you check the console for some water? My mouth is really dry. I, uh, didn’t think about that.”

Pidge cracks up. She opens the console and hands Lance a bottle of water. “You have so many bottles in here! Why do you need so many bottles of water?”

“Don’t judge me for my water!” Lance squawks. He takes a long drink and offers the bottle to Pidge. “You benefit greatly from my preparedness.”

The water seems to wash away Pidge’s anxiety. Sure, she’s naked from the waist down and about to have her first ever sexual experience, and she’d be terrified to be doing this with anyone else, but this is Lance. He can’t judge her for anything, on pain of death.

Lance’s hands are warm on Pidge’s thighs as he pulls her toward him. Her back slides down the back of the seat, and her legs fall over Lance’s shoulders, and it’s not the greatest position but it does give her a nice view of Lance’s nose in her curls.

“Ready?” Lance breathes against her.

Pidge nods.

The first slide of his tongue against her is a shock. It’s cooler than she’d thought it would be, the heat of Lance’s mouth tempered by the coolness of the air in the car. He runs his tongue up her folds, and Pidge shivers. It’s pleasantly teasing, though not quite pleasurable yet.

Lance reaches her clit and swirls his tongue around it, and, “ _ Oh _ .” Pidge’s legs tighten, and her heels dig into Lance’s back, unintentionally pulling him closer. Lance makes a sound that Pidge can’t interpret, then presses his tongue harder against her. Pleasure sparks up her spine in time with Lance’s tongue flicks. Her body high is back in full force, gluing her to the passenger seat and tunneling her concentration solely on Lance’s mouth.

His breath fans hot over Pidge’s sex, building with the pleasant warmth of her high and the heat of her own body until it sears, each exhale sending extra sparks of pleasure through her. His tongue flicks hard and strong against her clit, and his lips slide over hers, slick from his spit and her wetness. It’s so much.

It’s not enough.

Lance pulls away with a wet sound. He drags his tongue through the messy wetness at Pidge’s cunt and up through her folds, then wraps his lips around Pidge’s clit and sucks.

“ _ Ah _ !” This time, Pidge isn’t sure if it’s the high or the pleasure that anchors her to the seat. The heat alone is overwhelming, Lance’s breath and tongue and mouth and the  _ suction _ , the way his tongue slides over her clit without letting up, her whole sex feels like it’s burning. She tenses under him, abs contracting, inner thighs brushing his ears, cunt clenching, and deep inside of her is the unbearable ache of emptiness.

“Fingers,” she manages to whisper, “Lance, I need your fingers.”

Lance pops off of her clit and looks up. His lips and chin are wet. “Fingers?” he repeats. “Uh, you mean, like--”

“Inside,” Pidge says.

“Oh,” Lance says. “I. You’ll have to tell me.”

Pidge reaches out. Lance gently places his hand in hers. “Palm up,” Pidge says, directing Lance’s hand to turn over. “Probably these fingers.” Lance’s middle and ring fingers are closest in length, so Pidge grasps them. “In straight, and then curled, like this.” She gently curls Lance’s fingers and directs his hand in a circular motion. “Go easy at first. Start with light pressure, and go harder when I tell you to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lance pulls his hand back. He looks at his fingers, then studies Pidge’s cunt, brow creased. “They’ll fit?”

Pidge huffs out a laugh. “They’ll fit.”

Lance doesn’t look convinced, but tentatively touches his fingertips to Pidge’s opening. He drags them through the wetness, making slow circles that send little sparks of anticipation up Pidge’s spine. Her cunt tenses, and Lance starts and pulls back, wide-eyed.

“Was that-?”

“It’s good, it’s good, it’s fine.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” 

Pidge does a poor job of holding back her giggles. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just turned on.”

“You better be,” Lance grumbles.

His fingers resume their circling motion around Pidge’s cunt, and after a moment, they begin to dip inside.

Pidge’s breath shakes. “Come on, come on,” she whispers, tightening around Lance’s fingers, coaxing them in.

Lance stares down at his fingers. “I’m actually doing this,” he says. He drives his fingers a little further inside, then pulls back out again. “Holy shit, this is happening.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “Remember what I told you?”

“In straight,” Lance’s fingers move in tandem with his words, “then curved, and then…”

“Not that far in,” Pidge directs. “Come out just a little more, then- okay, there.  _ There _ . Now press, light pressure, like that, yeah, and-” She shudders, tightening around Lance’s fingers. The pleasure is deep and satisfying. It soothes her aching need for fullness, but still leaves her  _ wanting _ . “Go back,” she gasps. “Your mouth--”

Lance laves his tongue over Pidge’s clit, matching the rhythm with his fingers. The feeling is all-encompassing, and Pidge chases it, grinding herself against Lance’s mouth, urging his fingers to press harder into her.

“Yes,” she moans, “yes, like that. Good, that’s good, you’re good,  _ Lance _ .”

Lance lets out a little whine and sucks on Pidge’s clit again. His tongue hits just the right spot, his fingers stroke inside her just right, and Pidge’s stomach swoops with realization. Overwhelming heat envelops her skin, leaving little pinpricks of sweat at the back of her neck and the insides of her elbows and knees. Her whole body tenses, heels unapologetically digging into Lance’s back. Her fingers claw at the leather of the passenger seat, her eyes screw shut, and all she can focus on is  _ hot _ and  _ wet _ and  _ good _ and  _ soclose _ and  _ oh oh oh ohohoh _ \--

Orgasm shakes through her so hard she swears she can feel it in her hands. Her nerves spark and crackle up her spine, lighting up her body with energy. Right after, weakness floods her limbs, and she trembles helplessly through it. One leg drops off Lance’s shoulder. She doesn’t know if she can move.

Lance pulls his fingers out and studies them. “Uh,” he says, “where should I…?”

Pidge can’t help but chuckle. Her body is barely strong enough for words, but it’s definitely not strong enough for gestures, so she rasps out, “Tissues?”

“Tissues,” Lance repeats, “right.” They’re under his knee, and he has to maneuver himself around to get to them. Pidge looks down and gets a glimpse of his dick bobbing between his legs, rock hard and dark red and glistening with precum.

“Probably want to wipe your mouth, too.” Pidge takes a deep breath, slowly regaining movement in her arms and legs. She uses it to gesture shakily at Lance’s dick. “That looks painful.”

Lance swipes a tissue over his chin. “It’s not too bad,” he says. “It won’t take much.”

Pidge adjusts the back of the seat so she’s sitting up nearly straight. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Lance grabs his water and takes a long gulp. “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh. That’s...it? That’s all?”

Lance shrugs. “Well, no, but I do want to.”

“What else do you want to do?”

Again, Lance shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”

Pidge groans and tugs at Lance’s shoulder. “Fine,” she says, “but you can’t do anything from down there, you big dummy.”

Lance winces when his knees land on either side of Pidge’s lap. “Can we switch?” he asks. “My legs hurt.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says, “yeah, let’s…” She helps Lance maneuver so he’s seated with Pidge straddling him. “There. How’s that?”

Lance blinks up at her, cheeks still hot. His gaze drops down to where their crotches are inches apart and blushes harder. “Good. It’s good.”

“Great,” Pidge says, and leans in.

It occurs to her just before her lips meet Lance’s that her first kiss was, technically, not on the mouth. She snorts into Lance’s mouth.

“What?” Lance asks, indignant.

“Nothing,” Pidge says. “You kissed my other lips first.”

Lance frowns. “Is it weird?” he asks. “That we did things out of order?”

“I just think it’s funny.” Pidge pulls him in again. Against his mouth, she says, “I kind of like it. Makes us rebels.”

Little pecks and longer, open-mouthed kisses are okay, but tongue kissing is actually pretty unpleasant. Pidge isn’t sure if that’s because she and Lance both just suck at kissing, or if all French kissing feels like slippery tentacles rubbing against each other. Either way, she pulls away after barely a moment of tongue, then leans back in for less-wet kisses.

Lance gasps and whimpers into her mouth, and when Pidge breaks the kiss and looks down, he’s touching himself.

“Stop that,” Pidge says, replacing his hand with her own. “Let me.”

Lance moans and cants his hips up into her touch. His dick is hot and thick and sticky in her hand, but the drag of it feels strange, like it should be hurting him.

“Do we need, like, lotion or something?” Pidge asks.

“Probably,” Lance gasps.

Pidge takes her hand off Lance and blinks around the car. “Do we have any?”

“Don’t think so.”

Pidge seats herself on Lance’s thighs and looks at him. “Well, then what can we use?”

Lance flushes pink. “Uh, spit?” He drops his gaze to his lap and promptly flushes even pinker. “Also, hey, be careful.”

“Hm?” Pidge follows his gaze. Her crotch is seated dangerously close to the base of Lance’s dick. All she’d have to do is roll her hips a little and she’d rub against it.

So...she does.

“Shit,” Lance chokes out, eyes glued to the spot where Pidge’s clit grinds against him.

Pidge hisses out a breath. Lance’s dick is hot and hard against her, and she wants to slick it up and press her whole body against it. Or maybe she wants to sit on it. 

There’s an idea. “Do you have condoms?”

“Condoms?” Lance grabs her ass and pushes her harder against him. His dick throbs when it hits Pidge’s clit, and sparks of pleasure shoot through her at the feeling. “You mean, for--?”

“Sex,” Pidge breathes, “yeah.”

“God,” Lance groans, “you want to have sex? With me? Right now?”

“Mm.” Pidge buries her face in Lance’s neck and presses little kisses against it. “Only if you want to.”

Lance pulls Pidge’s face back and looks her in the eye. “But do you,” he says. “Want to. Do you want to?”

Pidge’s cheeks heat to a low burn under Lance’s scrutiny. It’s hard to find her voice. “Yeah,” she manages finally. “Do you?”

Lance nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and brings her in for another kiss.

The condoms are in the center console. The unopened box has been smashed under the weight of all the water bottles, but the condoms themselves are no worse for wear. Lance rolls one on, and Pidge positions herself over him.

“Ready?” she murmurs.

“Ready.”

Pidge slowly lowers herself onto Lance’s dick, letting it stretch her open and heat her from the inside. The feeling is foreign--not bad, but nowhere near as good as Lance’s tongue. She tenses around him experimentally, and revels in the way Lance gasps and bucks into her.

“Okay there, tough guy?”

“Don’t do that,” Lance says. “I want to at least try to last.”

“It feels good when I do,” Pidge says, doing it again. Again, Lance thrusts into her, cursing.

Lance grips her ass and pushes up, then drops her down. Pidge repeats the motion, riding him at a slow, steady pace that grinds his dick against her sweet spot. It’s not as precise as fingers, but the fullness and heat are pleasurable enough. Plus, Lance’s hands roam all over her back, his breath is hot against her neck, and the sound of his moans goes straight to her clit. She didn’t know she was the sort of person who got turned on by her partner’s pleasure, but she’s glad to know now. Every time she clenches around Lance, she gets double the reward. Extra friction on her G-spot, and shocks of pleasure radiating down her spine from Lance gasping into her ear.

“Katie,” Lance gasps against her neck. He grasps her hips with near-bruising force, and presses deep into her, over and over. “Katie, you feel so good, I can’t believe we’re doing this, oh my god I’m not going to last.”

It won’t take much for Pidge to come again. She worms a hand between them and rubs at her clit, and it’s all she needs to chase her second orgasm. “Lance,” she says, feeling it build within her, “more. I’m close, just a little more.”

“Can’t,” Lance exhales, “gonna come-”

“Not yet, don’t you dare-”

“Katie, fuck, sorry, I’m-” Lance’s thrusts turn erratic, each one harder and deeper and dirtier than the last, and the friction plus Lance’s desperate whines are enough to send Pidge over the edge with him.

“Lance, god,  _ Lance _ -!”

“Katie.  _ Katie _ .”

The second orgasm isn’t as debilitating as the first, but it still takes a second for Pidge’s head to clear. When it does, she realizes she’s slumped against Lance, her face buried in his neck, his arms around her waist holding her close. They’re both sweaty, hair and shirts sticking to their skin. There’s also a breeze chilling her back.

“Oh my god,” she laughs when she turns around. “I left the window open.”

“Good,” Lance mutters, “air it out. I don’t want my car smelling like weed and sex. People will think we’re delinquents.”

“We kind of are.” Pidge tucks her head back against Lance’s chest and breathes with him. Her high is mostly gone, leaving only a mild tingle on her skin. “You still high?”

“A little bit. You?”

“Not really.”

They stay curled up together in silence for a few minutes, just breathing. One of Lance’s hands moves to Pidge’s head and combs through the hair at the back of her neck. Pidge presses not-quite-kisses to Lance’s jaw and Adam’s apple.

Lance is the one who breaks the silence. “So,” he says with a light chuckle.

Pidge tilts her head up at him. “So?”

“We really had sex on prom night, huh.”

Pidge snorts. “We did. In a car, too.”

Lance groans. His hand stills in Pidge’s hair. “And we came at the same time.”

“Saying each other’s names.”

The ridiculousness of the situation catches up to them, and they both dissolve into a fit of giggles. Pidge is still sitting on Lance’s softening dick, and it bounces inside her with Lance’s laughter. The sensation is so odd it makes her laugh harder, which makes Lance laugh, which makes her laugh.

When they finally come down, Lance breathes one final huff into Pidge’s hair. “We’re the worst, Katie. We are the teen movie cliche.” He squirms beneath her. “Here’s the plan. We tell no one.”

“Hm.” Pidge sits up and lets Lance’s dick slip out of her. There’s a brief moment of unpleasant emptiness, then a mild sore feeling that she’s...actually kind of proud of. “Tell no one, and this never happens again?”

“Well.” Lance tightens his grip around Pidge’s waist, pulling her back down into his lap. “I didn’t say  _ that _ .”

“Hey!” Pidge muffles her laughter in Lance’s neck. “That good, huh?”

She feels him smile against the top of her head. “It was,” he says softly, breath warm in her hair. “And...I’m glad it was with you.”

“Me too.”

“I think I might’ve chickened out if it were anyone else.”

“Same.”

Lance nuzzles his nose into Pidge’s hair and holds her tighter. “I know we have to go back soon,” he says. “It’s probably after your curfew.”

“You’ll have to drop me at Matt’s,” Pidge agrees.

Lance hums in agreement. “But can we just...stay like this for a while?”

“Half-naked and gross?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re all sweaty.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re still wearing the condom.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“And you want to stay like this?”

“Mmhm.”

Pidge pretends to think it over for a second, then wraps her arms around Lance’s neck and settles into his embrace. “You’re weird.”

“You’re weirder.”

“No, you.”

“No, it’s definitely you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @[stripperviolet](https://twitter.com/stripperviolet)


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